


Moss Rosebud

by canadiankazz



Category: Vampire: The Masquerade, Vampire: The Masquerade - L.A. By Night (Web Series)
Genre: Crack Relationships, F/F, Language of Flowers, Love Letters, Love Poems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-22 23:12:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20000047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canadiankazz/pseuds/canadiankazz
Summary: Eva receives a love letter from an unexpected person.Written for the L.A. by Night Crackship Challenge that occurred in July 2019. My randomly selected pairing was Eva/Fiona. Here we go!





	Moss Rosebud

**Author's Note:**

> The love poem is _'The Anactoria Poem'_ by Sappho. Thanks to Cravat for making sure this was gay enough, and thanks to life-unsolved for hosting the challenge.

Eva found herself reading the letter again. She had read and re-read it so many times she could almost recite it from memory. It was written by hand, on beautiful and expensive stationary paper. It had been delivered to the Observatory at dusk by a young woman who was likely a ghoul. Eva had not been expecting to receive it, nor to be so moved by its contents. The writer had been careful that, should the letter fall into mortal hands, there would be little to no risk to the Masquerade.

> Dear Eva,
> 
> I must admit I am a little out of practice in writing letters. They are not so common in these modern times. You strike me as, respectfully, someone who appreciates the old ways, and so I thought a handwritten letter would be more appropriate than an e-mail or a text. I have far too much I want to say to fit into a text message, and I do not trust myself to be able to express my feelings clearly in spoken word. It’s funny… I’ve always been eloquent, but in this case, whenever I think about what I want to say to you, I find myself tongue-tied and flustered. Writing, therefore, when I can carefully consider each word and phrase, hopefully without embarrassment, is best.
> 
> I hope that Chloe is doing well. I trust that you have been looking after her.
> 
> I sincerely hope that you also are well, after the events of that night. I know it’s been a while since then, and you must be wondering why I have written you. I shall be direct, then, and explain:
> 
> I have been thinking about you quite a lot since I first met you that night. The display you made of your special talents was extraordinary. I’ve never seen anything like it up close before. It thrilled me in ways I honestly did not expect. I do not think you noticed at the time, concerned though you were for Chloe and your male friend. I might be curious to learn more about your talents, if you are willing to teach me. I promise to be a dutiful student, and I can promise you a great many rewards in return. I can provide you with anything you need - money, food, protection… there are no limits.
> 
> I have another confession to make, Eva. You remind me very much of someone, a woman, who I used to know in my youth. She was very important to me once, but time and circumstances forced us apart. She died in Europe several years ago and though I do not consider myself to be sentimental, seeing you and how you remind me of her brought back many emotions that I had long ago thought buried. She and I had been lovers once, in a time and place when such love was forbidden. I have dreamed of seeing you as I saw my old lover, and perhaps sharing the same intimate moments.
> 
> I don’t know why I’ve told you this, why I wrote it down in this letter to you. I am both terrified and excited by those words.
> 
> As I’ve already said above, you have stirred me in unexpected ways. I do not know if I believe in love any more, but I do know that you have been in my thoughts all my waking hours. Your dark eyes, your hair - like starlit lilies.You glow like the moon, and hold equal entrancement.
> 
> I shall stop myself there. I have never been known for my poetry.
> 
> I do not know if you feel the same about me. I have my doubts that you do. You might see me as an unspeakable monster in a stylish pant suit. I, however, can’t help but see you as a beautiful goddess. The Hecate, perhaps, to my Hera. Forgive me if I am wrong, but you do strike me woman who would appreciate the classics and mythologies.
> 
> If I have caused you any embarrassment or other ill feelings from this letter, please know that was never my intent. Do not feel obliged to write me a reply. Burn this paper and the flower with it if you wish, and I will take that as a sign that you want nothing more to do with me. If that is the case, I will accept your answer and keep any remaining dreams I have of you locked away in my cold, dead heart.
> 
> If you do wish to contact me though, you can send a reply to the return address I have written on the envelope. I hope that you do send a reply. The years have been long and lonely for me, and I would hope for the chance to share them with a woman as kind, powerful and lovely as yourself.
> 
> With secret affection and sincerely yours,
> 
> Fiona.

  
Included with the letter was a moss rosebud. The delicate red petals of the young rose were just poking out from the soft green mossy coverings. Eva hadn’t seen one of these in a very long time. In the language of the flowers, it symbolized a confession of love.

Eva was deeply flattered by the whole thing. It had been an extremely long time since she had received a declaration of love like this. The fact that it had come from an unexpected source amused Eva. Fiona had been correct about many things. The years had indeed been long and lonely and Eva did indeed appreciate the classics.

She was certainly not going to destroy the letter, nor the flower. In fact, she intended to send a reply in kind.

With great care, Eva folded the letter and pressed it, along with the rosebud, between the pages of a book of love poetry. She thought about what she might write as a reply. A sapphoric poem, perhaps. Something cryptic, certainly. Eva did not want to rush into a new romance and she wanted to test Fiona’s dedication. So, a positive, but mysterious reply was in order.

Yes, Eva decided, nothing short of a Sapphic poem would do. She found some paper of her own and a quill pen. Carefully, in her neat, elegant handwriting, Eva transcribed one of Sappho’s ancient love poems:

_Some say thronging cavalry, some say foot soldiers,_

_others call a fleet the most beautiful of_

_sights the dark earth offers, but I say it's what-_

_ever you love best._

_And it's easy to make this understood by_

_everyone, for she who surpassed all human_

_kind in beauty, Helen, abandoning her_

_husband--that best of_

_men--went sailing off to the shores of Troy and_

_never spent a thought on her child or loving_

_parents: when the goddess seduced her wits and_

_left her to wander,_

_she forgot them all, she could not remember_

_anything but longing, and lightly straying_

_aside, lost her way. But that reminds me_

_now: Anactória,_

_she's not here, and I'd rather see her lovely_

_step, her sparkling glance and her face than gaze on_

_all the troops in Lydia in their chariots and_

_glittering armor._

When she was finished, Eva signed it “To Hera, from your Hecete.” She then folded the poem and put it into an envelope. Eva included a small sprig of acacia to mean secret or chaste love. She sealed the envelope and sent it off to the return address.

Maybe this would turn into something, Eva mused, and maybe it would not. Maybe it was time again to find a new love. Maybe, in time, Fiona could be that love. Stranger things did happen.


End file.
